I'm Driving Today Eames
by DuoCorda
Summary: Bobby takes Alex for a ride in his classic car.  Will they finally express their true feelings for each other.  A continuation of "What Did They Feel."  I do not own the rights to these characters.


"_There may be some things that we need to talk about . . . things that should be said in person and not on the phone." "I would like that . . ."_ - Bobby & Alex, taken from "What Did They Feel."

**I'm Driving Today Eames**

It was a simple expression of honesty and everything that they needed to hear at the time. Had they been a younger couple the afternoon may have ended in intimacy. But with age comes wisdom and an unspoken understanding that they felt more than just a physical attraction to each other - and they were attracted to each other. It's just that they were overwhelmed by a labyrinth of other emotions - intricate, complicated, and torturous.

"So would you like for me to help you unpack?" she said somewhat hesitantly.

"Maybe later. Perhaps we should go and get your car. It's uh getting late."

He extended his hand to her. She interlaced her fingers with his and smiled shyly. Then they both erupted into laughter at the absurdity of it all. Two forty-somethings going on fifteen. They headed outside to Bobby's car. It was parked across the street - a fully restored chili pepper red 1966 Ford Mustang Fastback, with a 289 cubic inch V-8 engine, and a custom designed black leather interior. She was use to doing the driving but not this time, Bobby would be behind the wheel.

"Wow, nice ride. A muscle car. I use to help my dad work on cars when I was a kid."

He opened the door for her to get in. He then hopped into the driver's seat on the other side and shut the door. "Then you know that they were built for high performance," and he hit the power locks. He knew that she was annoyed because he had opened the car door for her. She frowned upon such courtesies since she had worked so hard at becoming just another cop while on the job. He respected her independence but they weren't on the job anymore; they were inside of his car.

"Seat belt secured Eames?" She was already strapped in but he leaned over to check anyway. His lips were within a hair's breadth of her cheek. He ran his fingers along the entire length of the seat belt until he reached the buckle situated between them. He gave it a slight tug. "Tight enough for you Eames? Wouldn't want you to fall out now would we." She cleared her throat, "no, no couldn't let that happen." He started the engine and gave her a mischievous grin. "Ready Eames?" She barely managed a nod before he revved the engine a few times and then took off.

"So where is your car?"

She was still bewildered by his 'up close and personal' safety check.

"It's uh just off of Delancy Street."

Then Bobby suddenly blew through a yellow light just nanoseconds before it turned red, the kind of maneuver that would ordinarily get you pulled over.

"Bobby! Maybe I should take over Goren after all it has been a while."

He raised an eyebrow, "has it Eames?"

_"__Oh no."_ She had that deer in the headlights look. "I . . .yyou know what I mean Goren."

"I think I do. But um, I'll drive today Eames . . . I'm driving," and he stepped on the gas.

Was he driving recklessly? Somewhat. Was he showing off for her? Absolutely. But he couldn't help it. It was a man thing - a pure testosterone driven need for control, power, and the speed of a roaring engine. It's a rite of passage, an in your face assertion of masculinity, and a blatant display of sexual prowess - a biological response to steel, pistons, and combustion. He was a man behind the wheel of a fast car - a fuel injected extension of himself, and she was inside.

As he rounded a curve onto the boulevard, he gave Eames a wink. She gave him a 'who in the hell are you and what did you do with Bobby' look. Yet she was intrigued, fascinated, and was strangely aroused by this cavalier self confident bad boy behind the wheel.

"So how am I doing?"

"Huh, what?"

"I said how am I doing?"

"Oh well it's just like we're in hot pursuit at the Indy 500."

"Maybe I should slow down then."

"No, no don't slow down . . . you're doing good, I mean it's fine , it's it's okay, it's okay . . ._ what's the matter with me? Better yet what's the matter with him? Less than an hour ago he said I was everything to him . . . does that include being chick in the hot sports car too? How did this happen? Damn, I think I like it."_

Alex had nearly forgotten the reason that she went over to Bobby's house in the first place. She had to tell him about yesterday and her suspicions about the job. She dreaded rehashing the conversation with Lieutenant Maas in the Chief of D's office, for fear of re-igniting her anger and possibly his; and she was really enjoying being with him, cruising the city streets within the confines of his car.

"Eam-Bobby," "um, you go first."

"So how big of a . . . I mean how l - long . . . I - I take it you worked on the engine for a while . . . _I've got to get out of this car._"

"I took my time with it. I didn't want to make any mistakes. One little slip up could cause irreparable damage."

"I don't like to rush either."

"There is a lot at stake in these kinds of situations. It's complicated - lots of moving parts - lots of external pressures. You can't always anticipate a problem . . . but if there is, you have to be willing to do whatever it takes to fix it. What about you Eames . . . are you willing to make that kind of commitment?"

She paused a moment before speaking.

"The first car I ever helped my Dad work on was a 1972 Plymouth station wagon, you know the kind with the wooden side panels? It was the family car. He's still got it. It still runs, but it needs some work. I haven't been able to help him with it in a long time - but that doesn't mean that I wouldn't want to."

In a roundabout way, she had just invited him to explore her heart - a secret place where he had longed to dwell; and he would allow her to do the same. But they would take things slowly . . . patiently . . . and proceed cautiously, because 'one slip up could cause irreparable damage.'

-P-

Night had fallen. They joined the procession of cars approaching the Brooklyn Bridge, against a backdrop of city lights and a bittersweet melody on the radio. Traffic had slowed to a near crawl but they didn't mind. They didn't even mind being cut off by a crazed taxi driver nor did they mind the bellowing car horn of the imbecile behind them, in a 2011 black Sierra.

They were lost in each other's thoughts . . . in an alternate universe in which only they existed. She closed her eyes to imagine the succession of lights suspended along the bridge. She could not remember the last time she felt this calm, especially around him. She felt safe, protected, and care for. They were mostly alien feelings to her since she had been on her own for so long . . .but perhaps not so for a woman in love.

Traffic had come to a complete standstill at mid-span of the bridge. She opened her eyes when she felt the car stop. The interior was dimly lit by subtle shades of green and amber from the console, and reflections of red and white shining in from the cars outside.

He was staring at her. He took her hand into a gentle caress and tenderly kissed each finger . . . only to be interrupted by the imbecile behind them in the black Sierra, blowing his car horn again. Traffic had resumed to its normal frantic pace.

Much to his credit he did not get angry. He was in complete control. She wanted so badly to touch him again, if only to reunite her hand with his. He felt a new sense of power that did not come from pistons and spark plugs, it emanated from her.

They would be in Manhattan soon. Neither one of them had ever expected that the day would end in a prelude to romance, high upon one of the oldest bridges in the country, inside the cozy confines of his car.

He had come to a complete stop at the traffic light on the Manhattan side of the bridge. She had to speak to him about yesterday.

"Bobby I . . ."

And the next thing that he remembered was feeling cold and hearing muffled voices. The imbecile behind them in the black Sierra was drunk. He came barreling through the intersection without stopping and struck Bobby's car, sending it careening out into traffic where it was broadsided by an SUV. It came to rest against a concrete barrier. His red Mustang was totaled.

"Hey, hey buddy you alright? Hang on help is on the way."

"Lady take it easy you could be hurt real bad."

"No you don't understand, it's her, she's a serial killer, get us out of here please."

"E-e-e-ames . . ."

And he was out.

-P-

The next time he opened his eyes was to a flickering bright light. He swatted it out of his face and onto the floor.

"Pupils are reactive. You just broke my pen light Mr. Goren, but I guess it's alright. You've been unconscious for awhile.

"who . . . where am I?"

"You're in the hospital. I'm Dr. Ferguson. Can you tell me what happened?"

". . . car accident."

"Yes and you are lucky. You only sustained a mild concussion and a couple of bruised ribs.

"eames . . . Eames . . . EAMES!, where is she?"

"Who"

"Doctor I thinks that's the woman that came in with him."

"IS SHE ALRIGHT? WHERE IS SHE?"

He was fighting to get up to search for her.

"Mr. Goren you've got to calm down your going to hurt yourself."

"CALM DOWN I'M NOT GOING TO CALM DOWN. WHERE IS SHE?"

"Knock it off Bobby, I'm right here. I'm alright."

She was sitting up in the bed behind the curtain next to his.

"I'm alright."

"Eames."

He winced in pain as he motioned for the nurse to pull the curtain back, and then he saw her. Her wrist was bandaged and she had several cuts and bruises as did he.

"Eames are you alright?"

"I'm fine Bobby, just a bump on the head and a fractured wrist. Now please calm down and let them help you."

Are you sure you're alright?"

"Bobby."

She nodded and gave him a reassuring smile. He laid down satisfied that she was relatively alright and let them tend to his wounds. The doctor wanted to keep them overnight for observation but they didn't want to stay. They felt well enough considering. He went home with her and they took care of each other. They hobbled around her apartment like two old curmudgeons complaining about their aches and pains. They finally settled down on her sofa with tea, gauze, and an assortment of medications. But she knew that the greatest source of his pain was the loss of his car.

"Bobby, I am so sorry, if it hadn't been for me . . ."  
"No, no don't say that. It wasn't your fault. It was that bastard behind us in the black Sierra."

"For a moment there I thought I saw Jo Gage. They must have thought that I was crazy. I kept screaming her name."

"Guess I'm in good company then huh."

They tried not to laugh because it was too painful.

"I guess this is one of those problems that you can't always anticipate, that you were talking about earlier."

"But I'm here now Alex to do whatever it takes to fix it. You are all that I care about; you are the only thing in this world that matters to me."

"Goren," she said with tearful eyes.

And they very slowly leaned towards each other for a slightly painful but gentle kiss.

**EPILOGUE:** Although the imbecilic bastard behind them in the black Sierra suffered only minor injuries, he had a blood alcohol level of .18% and was charged with aggravated DWI, aggravated vehicular assault, and a host of other charges. He's facing a fine and up to 15 years in prison - bastard.

_fini_


End file.
